


(Not A) Tragedy

by vyrantium



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 16:51:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vyrantium/pseuds/vyrantium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A single tear slipped from his eye, muttering "Just like Sherlock" one last time.</p><p>"John? What do you mean, 'Just like Sher-'...oh. Oh god. John, don't. Don't move. Don't you dare."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> This fic killed me to write. A lot. Just...be warned.
> 
> It's also my first, so I'm sorry if it totally sucks.

"Just like Sherlock," John muttered to himself as he walked quickly in the cold January air. It'd been three years. Three years since Sherlock had fallen. Three years since he lost himself. He died that day too, and he might as well make it official.

He made it to the rooftop. The rooftop where his best friend had taken his own life.

"Just like Sherlock." He muttered again, moving towards the ledge.

He stepped up, and took out his phone. He dialed the familiar number of his long gone friend, and muttered "Just like Sherlock" over and over while it rang. To his surprise, someone picked up before the voicemail took it.

"John."

He wasn't surprised to hear The Voice other end. He'd been hearing it for three years now. He ignored The Voice, and continued on with his plan. Just like Sherlock.

"Where are you?"

Despite how real the voice was, he ignored it again. A single tear slipped from his eye, muttering "Just like Sherlock" one last time.

"John? What do you mean, 'Just like Sher-'...oh. Oh god. John, don't. Don't move. Don't you dare."

Unable to resist himself, John broke part, and spoke to The Voice. "He's been gone three years. I'm done. I'll meet him once again."

"John, listen to me. Don't move. I'm on my way. I'm not really..." The Voice continued on, but John stopped listening.

The Hallucination showed up in no time, emerging from a cab below. The words that were coming out of the phone seemed to match up perfectly with the movements of the small figure below. It surprised John; usually it was either The Voice or The Hallucination, never both.

"John, stay there, I'm coming up. Just please don't...please don't move..."

"No! Turn around and walk back the way you came."

"No, I'm coming up. Please don't do this John."

"Just. Do as I ask. Please."

"Why-"

"Stop there. Okay, look up. I'm on the rooftop."

"Oh god, John. Don't-"

"I- I- I can't come down so we'll have to do it like this."

"Please-"

"An apology. It's all true." The words came easily to John, still echoing through his head from when Sherlock had said it exactly three years ago. _Just like Sherlock..._ "Everything they said about me. It's all true. I invented Moriarty. I'm a fake."

"Why are you doing this?"

"The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade. I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson and Molly. In fact, tell anyone that will listen to you. That I created Moriarty for my own purposes."

"Shut up John. Just shut up. Can't you see I'm right here?" The Voice said as The Hallucination held up a hand. John reached out, as Sherlock had done.

"Nobody could be that clever."

"Come down. Please." The panic level was rising in The Voice.

"I researched you. Before we met. I discovered everything that I could to impress you. It's a trick. Just a magic trick."

"Yes, John, exactly. _It was a magic trick. I'm here._ "

"This phone call. It's... It's my note. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note."

"JOHN!"

"Goodbye, Sherlock." He whispered. _I'll see you soon._

John tossed his phone, just as Sherlock had done. He flung himself off the building, just as Sherlock had done. He thrashed at the air as he fell, just as Sherlock had done.

Right before he hit the ground, John heard The Voice yell, "I LOVE YOU JOHN!"

Those were the last words John Watson ever heard.


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Goodbye, Sherlock."
> 
> The words stung. Everything except John disappeared in the world around him. He saw John jump off the roof, just as he had done. He started running to where he'd land. There must be something, _anything_ he could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this chapter is the same events, except told from Sherlock's point of view.

Sherlock smiled, walking up to the ever familiar 221B Baker Street. It had been three years since he had seen it. Three years with nothing to live for except the knowledge that he would be returning to John as soon as he destroyed the rest of Moriarty's web.

He let himself in, and started up the stairs. Walking through the door, he saw not much had changed. There were still papers in unorganized stacks, and the the yellow spray paint smiley was still on the wall. It was all so familiar, so home.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and saw he was getting a call from John. Sherlock had been receiving calls from him every week since his fall, but he always let them go to voicemail. This time it was safe. Smiling even broader, he hit “answer.”

"John," he said simply. "Where are you?"

A shaky breath was taken on the other side, and Sherlock heard a broken voice say "Just like Sherlock."

"John? What do you mean, 'Just like Sher-'" He stopped, realizing what was happening. "Oh god. John, don't. Don't move. Don't you dare."

Sherlock ran to the street, all but jumping into the closest cab. "St. Bart's! And quickly!" He demanded, screaming. He remained on the phone with John, telling him it was alright, that everything was fine. That he was alive. That, whatever he does, he should not jump off the rooftop.

The cab didn't drive fast enough. John was in danger. His John. His everything. The whole reason he even did this. Sherlock was restless, and in far too much time, he reached the hospital. He burst out of the cab, and sure enough, he saw John standing in the same spot he had three years ago.

"John, stay there, I'm coming up. Just please don't...please don't move..."

"No! Turn around and walk back the way you came."

He felt a stab in his chest. John was doing this _exactly_ like he had. "No, I'm coming up. Please don't do this John."

"Just. Do as I ask. Please."

"Why-" Sherlock started to question.

"Stop there. Okay, look up. I'm on the rooftop."

"Oh god, John. Don't-"

"I- I- I can't come down so we'll have to do it like this."

"Please."

"An apology. It's all true. Everything they said about me. It's all true. I invented Moriarty. I'm a fake."

"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock heard the panic in his voice. John couldn't do this. He can't. They'd been through too much for it to end like this.

"The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade. I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson and Molly. In fact, tell anyone that will listen to you. That I created Moriarty for my own purposes."

"Shut up John. Just shut up. Can't you see I'm right here?" He was vaguely aware of reaching out his hand to John.

"Nobody could be that clever."

"Come down. Please." It was all he could do not to scream.

"I researched you. Before we met. I discovered everything that I could to impress you. It's a trick. Just a magic trick."

"Yes, John, exactly. _It was a magic trick. I'm here._ "

"This phone call. It's... It's my note. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note."

"JOHN!"

"Goodbye, Sherlock."

The words stung. Everything except John disappeared in the world around him. He saw John jump off the roof, just as he had done. He started running to where he'd land. There must be something, anything he could do.

"I LOVE YOU JOHN!" He screamed as he ran.

John's body made a loud _thud_ as it struck the pavement.

Sherlock's world flipped. He was gone. John was dead. Just as Sherlock had been three years ago.

Before he even reached John's body, he turned and ran into the hospital, up the stairs, and onto the rooftop.

He'd already done this once, he could do it again.

Moving slightly to the left of where he'd jumped before, he heard sirens in the distance, no doubt coming for John. _You're going to need more than one stretcher now_ , he thought as he stepped up.

He took a deep breath and stepped of the ledge. The sensation of falling was wonderful, and every foot he fell brought his closer to John. His John. The John he'd do anything for. Taking his life being one of them.

Sherlock Holmes fell upon the pavement once again, John Watson being the last thing he saw before the world faded away.


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In front of him was his flat mate, his best friend . . . his Sherlock. “Bloody hell,” John breathed. After what felt like an eternity, he was finally seeing him again.

_I’ve heard it said that when you die, you go to heaven or hell._  
I’ve heard it said that it’s nothing more than infinite darkness.  
But I’ve also heard it said, and believe with all my heart, that when you die,  
you go home. 

* * *

**The bodies of Dr. John H. Watson and the previously confirmed dead Sherlock Holmes were found outside of St. Bartholomew’s Hospital Thursday afternoon. Witness reports state that Watson jumped off the roof, and was soon followed by Holmes. Some speculation has been raised about whether or not it was actually Holmes who was seen, but all tests have confirmed the body was his. Which then raises the question, who was the man who committed suicide three years previous? Interestingly enough, the deaths occurred in the same location of Holmes’ “suicide” three years prior. It is believed that Watson chose this location because of that, having had a flat share with Holmes before the man disappeared. Holmes and Watson were found hand in hand, facing each other.**

* * *

John opened his eyes to find himself lying in his room at 221B Baker Street. He stretched, and made his way downstairs, noting it was ridiculously sunny for this time of year. Not only sunny, it was _warm_ too. This definitely wasn’t the January weather he was used to.

Fully awake now, he realized the flat had a sort of haze over it. Transparent, almost. He was wondering how in the world that was possible when he remembered what he’d been doing last.

He chuckled. “So is this heaven or hell?’ he asked the seemingly empty flat. “Stuck in the flat alone for the rest of eternity. Never expected that.”

“So is that what you see? Interesting. All I see is you,” a deep voice said from behind him. John froze. He knew that voice. “Yes John, it’s me.”

Slowly, John turned. In front of him was his flat mate, his best friend . . . his Sherlock. “Bloody hell,” John breathed. After what felt like an eternity, he was finally seeing him again.

“John-” Sherlock started, but was unable to continue due to the smaller man squeezing him in a tight hug.

“You’re back! Or rather, I joined you,” John said, pulling back. He saw Sherlock grimace for a millisecond, and he gave him a concerned look.

Sherlock sighed, not wanting to lie. He gave a brief summary of how he’d faked his death the first time, how he’d done it for John, how he destroyed the remnants of Moriarty’s followers as quickly as he could, and how he never ever wanted it to end this way.

John listened to Sherlock silently, thinking back on his last few minutes alive. He’d actually talked to Sherlock. If he had just listened, they would both be alive right now. His stomach did a flip and he collapsed onto the couch.

“I’m sorry,” John said, looking at Sherlock with tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were dead. I thought I was hallucinating again. I- I- I thought,” he trailed off. He shook his head, and stared at nothing. John gave a weak laugh, and then said, “At least we’re together, I guess.”

Sherlock nodded, sitting next to John. “I meant what I said, right before you died,” he said cautiously.

John struggled to remember what Sherlock had said. He’d spent most of the time trying to ignore him, telling himself that it wasn’t really Sherlock, though he’d be joining him soon. He frowned, mad at himself for not paying more attention to the words Sherlock had said to him, then remembered the four words that he’d caught right before everything disappeared into darkness.

 _“I love you, John!”_ The words echoed through his mind.

“Oh.” He smiled at the concerned Sherlock. “In what sense?”

“John, it would take a true idiot – or Anderson – to not know what sense I was talking about,” Sherlock laughed, before pulling him into a delicate kiss.

John sat frozen for a moment before slowly returning the soft kiss. He had known for a while before the fall that there was something more than friendship between himself and Sherlock, and it was only confirmed in the three years absence of the man from his life. He had tried a few times at romance after the man disappeared, but he never had any luck. He always found himself bored, and utterly disinterested in the other women. After a while, he had given up. There was no use in denying his love of the dead man.

John pulled back, grinning at Sherlock. “Do me a favor and never bring up Anderson again, okay?” He knew the man would love nothing more than to just delete the man.

“More than happy to,” Sherlock chuckled, taking John’s hand in his own. “I’ve missed you so much,” he confessed.

John nodded, agreeing with the statement. Not that he needed to. He had killed himself to be with the consulting detective, after all. If that didn’t show that you missed someone greatly, he didn’t know what did.

* * *

“John!” Sherlock yelled from the other room.

“Yes, love?” he said, walking into the room, two cups of tea in his hands.

“Bored,” Sherlock stated.

“Why am I not surprised?” John asked, holding out one of the cups to Sherlock. “Want me to call up ‘Lestrade’? Get you a ‘case’?”

Sherlock grunted. He found the people in this afterlife were incredibly boring, more than those of the living world. “No. They’re all the same. I got a repeat last time,” he huffed, sitting up on the couch, making room for John to sit next to him. “Bored, bored, bored. . . “

John placed a kiss on his lips to silence him. It was one of the few ways he could manage to shut him up. Resting his head on Sherlock’s shoulder, he gave a happy sigh. “I love you,” John said quietly, entwining Sherlock’s fingers in his own.

“I love you too, John.” He placed a kiss on John’s forehead. “More than you’ll ever know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's it! Let me know what you thought and how I can improve, I really need it.
> 
> [Edit: I've got another fic in the works at the moment.]


End file.
